familiar ; draco malfoy

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE (R)

mature content ~ viewer discretion is advised ~

He had made his declaration, wording it so desperately she could feel pain oozing from each syllable. He'd said it, finally, he'd made his choice and now the silence lay on her skin like a poison. It seeped into her blood and paralyzed her brain. Even once she composed herself, there was a tremor in her hands.

Draco's face was one of awkwardness, not even hurrying to save her feelings. Not hurrying to fill the void with something that would make it easier for her. That void was a cruelty unintentionally inflicted, though even if he were aware of it he would not have cared. At that point, he would have said almost anything to keep her from walking away, even though it's what a part of him desperately wanted.

Leave, he thought, just leave. Don't let me make you stay.

If she were to leave without so much as turning to look at him, he'd be left with a gnarly, gaping hole in his chest. The moments she took to process his words drew on for too long and he could already feel it spreading apart his ribs, so painfully it was almost impossible to take a breath. It was a familiar kind of pain, one he'd gotten so used to it felt like a part of himself more than anything else. But if she were to stay, which was an option he equally yearned for and feared, what would he do with himself? His hands trembled; if she were to stay, what would he do with his hands?

A couple of kids zoomed down the hallway, their laughter slicing through Ramona's skin. They pretended to be enemy wizards caught up in a duel, waving with their candy canes as if they were wands. Their happiness seemed too pure, too sickeningly sweet. She wished to run among them for a moment, to feel what it was they were feeling as their throats hurt from laughter, sweetness under their tongues and dreams tangled in their hair.

She'd never had that kind of childhood, pure and gentle and thrilling and kind. If she were to walk, to run, to leave the dreadful compartment in which he sat, asking her to stay, she'd be eaten alive by the guilt of doing it once more. That was her childhood- the fear, the guilt, the pain. She couldn't escape it and it felt more like a part of herself than anything else.

This time, the decision to leave or to stay was entirely her own, and it didn't come as easily as she once believed it would.

Leave, she thought, just leave. Don't let him make you stay.

Stupidly, idiotically, pathetically, she turned to look at him with the weariness of one who is fatigued with the whining of a small child and raised her eyebrows.

"Stay," he repeated, "I don't care what it takes. Shout at me, cuss me out, call me a daft imbecile, a selfish coward, call me whatever you want. Just... Don't go. I can't bare it."

Draco barely looked at her as he spoke, eyes wandering between her stoic face and the ground, as if he hoped it would swallow him whole. His own mouth was betraying him as he confessed the most pitiful of thoughts so blatantly, cringing as he did. Though he'd repeat them if she wished, he'd repeat them five times over, he would have said just about anything, admitted to anything, because even the most pathetic and shameful confession was easier to do than to watch her go. He was weaker than he believed himself to be, but he didn't care this time.

As if still expecting her to leave, Draco flinched once Ramona made a move to enter the compartment. She closed the door behind her, still facing him. Trying not to sigh, not to breathe, not to move, Ramona only looked at him with her eyes half-closed and head leaning back against the door.

"I'm sorry," he whispered quietly, rubbing his hands together as he leaned forward. He seemed as if he wanted to jump out of his skin.

"No, you're not," said Ramona, voice as taut as strings on a new guitar.